


Sandcastles

by cosmic_llin



Series: Right Here By My Side: An Ada/Hecate Pre-Canon Timeline [7]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Memories, Day At The Beach, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Issues, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_llin/pseuds/cosmic_llin
Summary: Ada's always known it's her duty to carry on the Cackle line. But is that what she really wants?Written for Week 3 of the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.





	Sandcastles

It had taken a few years of trial and error for Ada and Hecate to be able to enjoy the beach together. These days, they had it down to a fine art.

Hecate, who liked the sound of the sea and the tang of salt in the air but disliked the bright light and the texture of sand, sat on a deckchair under the shade of a canvas sun shelter, with a stack of books beside her and a tall glass of fruit juice in her free hand.

Ada was out in the sunshine a little way off, wearing nothing but a bikini, a straw hat, her glasses and a sun protection spell, and digging industriously with a red wooden spade from the little shop at the other end of the beach. Hecate was allowing herself the indulgence of occasionally letting the beautiful sight distract her from her book.

Every now and then, one or the other of them would speak, or catch the other’s eye to smile. It was peaceful.

Hecate hadn’t been on a staff outing to the seaside in years – being the only one who didn’t want to swim or play frisbee was awkward. But when it was just her and Ada, neither of their preferences outweighed the other’s. Ada never told her that it was pointless to go all the way to the beach just to spend the entire day reading in the shade fully clothed. (Although in fairness she had undone the top button of her blouse.)

Hecate put down her book for a moment and watched Ada properly. It had become clear that she was building a sandcastle. When Ada was building something – a sandcastle, a tower of cups, a daisy chain – that usually meant she had something on her mind. The bigger and more elaborate the construction, the thornier the question she was wrestling with.

This one was shaping up to be positively palatial.

‘Goodness, Ada,’ Hecate said lightly. ‘You’ll be able to start a second school at this rate.’

Ada frowned at her, too lost in thought to immediately catch her meaning.

‘Because your sandcastle is enormous,’ Hecate clarified.

‘Oh,’ said Ada. She looked at it as though she was seeing it for the first time. ‘I suppose it is a bit big.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Hecate asked.

‘Yes, yes, fine,’ said Ada, and she went back to digging.

A few more minutes passed.

‘Hecate?’ said Ada. ‘Do you like children?’

Hecate stared at her. ‘We run a school…’

‘Well, yes, of course, but… apart from that.’

As far as Hecate was concerned, there wasn’t any _apart from that_. There was no way to untangle the school from the rest of her life, it was all woven inextricably together. But, to humour Ada, she tried to answer the question.

‘Of course I like children,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t spend all day every day with them if I didn’t. I find them infuriating and confusing sometimes, but I gather that’s the general case. Why do you ask?’

Ada looked out at the sparkling sea, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Do you think… have you ever imagined having a child of your own?’ she asked.

_Oh._

They had never discussed it properly, not in the three years of their romantic relationship and certainly not before then, but Hecate had wondered about it. Even considering the long fertility of witches, at almost fifty Ada was approaching the age at which a decision would soon have to be made, if it was going to be. And the academy, which had passed down the Cackle line for centuries, had no heir – unless one counted Agatha, which was debateable.

‘It’s not as though I’ve entirely ruled it out,’ Hecate said. ‘But I don’t yearn for it, either. My days are already so full. Ada... are you considering having children?’

Ada let out a huge, shuddering sigh. ‘It frightens me, Hecate,’ she admitted, then fell silent, eyes on the horizon.

‘What, exactly?’ Hecate asked gently.

‘All of it. It’s all so tangled up and complicated…’

Hecate got up from her chair and crossed to Ada, took her hands in her own. ‘Tell me.’

Ada nodded, as though she couldn’t quite speak yet.

‘Let’s walk?’ Hecate suggested.

She summoned her parasol and they turned to wander along the sand, parallel to the water. A little way out to sea there was a flat-topped rock, rising out of the waves. Ada kept her eyes on it as they walked.

‘I always supposed I’d have children,’ she said. ‘It was drummed into me so young that I’d have to carry on the legacy, keep the Cackle line going. Mother asks me about it more and more. She mirrored just last night to ask why I’m leaving it so long to get started. And I don’t… in theory, part of me likes the idea. I love our girls so much, it feels so wonderful to know that we’re helping to guide them into the rest of their lives as witches, and I keep thinking – how could I ever have too much of that feeling? Wouldn’t it be even better if it was my own child?’

Hecate made an encouraging noise.

‘And then of course, there’s… well… the question of us.  I don’t want to assume anything, and I…’

‘Don’t worry about that part for now,’ Hecate said. The last thing she wanted was for Ada to worry about _her_ feelings, when there was clearly so much else weighing her down.

‘But I do!’ said Ada. ‘If I ever did want to have a child, I would want it to be ours – yours and mine. But I’m not at all sure that I do. In fact, I think perhaps I don’t. At all. Ever.’

She stopped walking.

‘I’ve never said that out loud before,’ she said.

‘I’m glad you told me,’ said Hecate.

For a moment, a picture flashed through her mind – a child with Ada’s eyes and Ada’s smile, and perhaps Hecate’s nose, or her hair. It was a nice thought, even if that was all it was. But the thing that had made Hecate’s heart sing was the fact that Ada trusted her enough that, in another life, she could have wanted it. It was a heady feeling, to be the person in whom the magnificent Ada Cackle placed that much faith.

Ada looked at the rock amid the waves. ‘Could we sit out there?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ said Hecate, twisting the world around them just enough to leave them standing side by side on the rock, with the sea swirling beneath them. Ada sat down, her feet hanging off the edge. Hecate joined her.

‘I think about being the last Cackle,’ Ada continued, ‘the one who breaks the chain, and it tears at me… and what if I didn’t have a baby, but Agatha did? Where would that leave things?’

‘Ada, my love, you can’t bring a child into the world just in case your sister does. You have to want it for yourself.’

‘You’re right, of course you are… but my mind keeps going in circles about it… I just… oh Hecate, I just can’t bear the thought of putting a child through what I went through!’

Ada’s voice caught, and she started to cry. Hecate took her hand again, lacing their fingers together and rubbing her thumb across Ada’s knuckles.

‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.’

‘I feel disloyal even talking about it,’ Ada said, when she could speak again. ‘I know how lucky I’ve been. I know the proud legacy of the Cackles. And I know I chose this for myself, in the end, and it was the right choice. But I spent most of my childhood feeling trapped and afraid, wondering if I would ever measure up. I felt so different from the other children, I almost don’t feel as though I had the chance to really _be_ a child. Even if I’m happy with my life now – and I really couldn’t be happier – who’s to say that any children I had would want to carry on with the school? I could never make them, but the weight of centuries is difficult to ignore.’

‘It’s an unconscionable amount of pressure to put on a child,’ Hecate said fiercely. ‘Sometimes I could shake your mother, I really could.’

‘Hecate! I had no idea you felt that way.’

Hecate shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to overstep.’

Ada summoned a small sphere of seawater from below them and tossed it from hand to hand, watching the way the water churned. ‘She does love us,’ she said. ‘It’s not that I ever really thought she didn’t. But it always felt like... an afterthought. Like she’d needed an heir, and once we were here she ended up loving us almost by accident.’

She let the seawater go and leaned against Hecate, dropping her head onto her shoulder. ‘What would happen to the school, once we retired?’ she asked. ‘Centuries of witches, all learning their craft there, and then… nothing? It just ends?’

‘You know,’ said Hecate thoughtfully, ‘just because there are no more Cackles, it doesn’t mean the school would have to close. You could always pass the school on to someone who _wasn’t_ part of your family.’

‘I… I don’t even know what to think of that. Mother wouldn’t like it.’

‘Your mother isn’t headmistress any more. You are.’

Ada laughed. ‘I’m still not used to hearing that,’ she admitted.

‘Give it some thought, anyway,’ Hecate said. ‘There’s no need to decide everything right now.’

The sea was rising higher, the tide creeping up to the edges of Ada’s sandcastle. Hecate took off her shoes and stockings, put them neatly beside her on the rock, and let her feet dangle in the cold water.

‘Besides,’ she said, ‘it’s all right if things end, sometimes. Not everything has to last forever. You’re doing great things _now_. That matters, just as much as what happened before or what happens later.’

Ada’s breath hitched, and she turned and looked at Hecate with sudden intensity.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘You’re absolutely right. For whatever time it’s here, it’s worth it.’

She turned and looked ruefully at the sandcastle, the water almost close enough to topple the first tower.

Hecate thought for a moment, then cast a silent spell at the castle. The tide rushed over it, and it didn’t fall, didn’t even get wet.

‘Hecate!’ Ada said, teasingly. ‘Isn’t that a frivolous use of magic, of the sort we try to discourage?’

Hecate raised her eyebrows. ‘Everything ends eventually,’ she said. ‘But there’s no reason why this particular castle has to crumble right now. In fact…’

And with a gesture she sent the whole castle further up the beach, past the high tide line.

‘It won’t last forever,’ she said. ‘But it’ll still be there tomorrow.’


End file.
